


The Play

by Zefrangaure



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fuck it's finale day, Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 18:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zefrangaure/pseuds/Zefrangaure
Summary: Dear friends, this is a little silly story we wrote while S6 got darker and darker and we felt we need some light and fun."We" is no pluralis majestatis but Zeffy, Laure and Frangi (as if it weren't obvious, I know).So, it's finale Sunday and we are all anxious and excited.In our respective places of the world it's a wonderful sunny and warm spring day - so let's enjoy the day, and hopefully a great finale this night.For episode discussion, a great pre finale game (closes today at noon EST) and lots of other stuff check here:http://homelandstuff.livejournal.comAnd, whatever happens tonight, don't think we stop writing. Many writers from our above LJ community committed to write fics and post within the next three weeks - so you'll find at least one fic a day here.





	

Quinn was just fine, and it was all a play.

See, he had realized he was in perfect health a while ago, after a doctor gave him the good news. “We think your arm and your leg will be just fine,” the man said, “You should go to speech therapy, but really, this should all resolved soon. Congratulations! You’re a healthy man!”

And he was. Quinn was doing a lot of exercises in his room – and when he insulted copiously that dumb, crazy, fascist ex-Marine that was yelling racist slurs in the next room, he realized his capacity to talk was back – and he could be extremely creative with profanity, too.

So, great, then, right? A miracle?  
Except for… Carrie.

Carrie was coming every day. Every fucking day! And she was all sweet and caring and devoted to him. Because, of course, he was her new project. And that, my friends, was the perfect opportunity.  
To, at last, get her in his fucking bed.

So on a Monday, Quinn started _Operation Fucking Carrie._

He was gonna lie. He was going to pretend he was still fucked up, just the right amount, so she would feel super guilty and visit him. And he was going to finally get laid.

The three rules of Operation Fucking Carrie were:

1/ Get her jealous  
2/ Pretend you need help  
3/ Be obnoxious and impossible (to not be considered as a victim, but more as a male, powerful, sexy antagonist.)

So yes, Dear Reader, the hookers were part of the play. 

Carefully orchestrated. He needed Clarence. And Clarice. And his cheque. And a fight with Carrie to start the process. 

Of course he could just have gotten some money from his bank account but he’d placed the bait (Thinking it over, what was the bait? He, himself?) a few days ago with the bathtub fun and going AWOL on payday would send Carrie on his tracks right away.

Playing Clarice was easy… although the place was icky… Justine got all touchy though and… yeah, well, let's just say he needed to check his functions in that department.

He hadn't planned the part with Tommy but you can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs. So, yes, there was some minor collateral damage, but probably Carrie might feel sorry enough for her poor broken hero to grant him some special… care. 

Except, Carrie was having none of it. She was genuinely pissed. Not jealous. Just pissed. She didn't even talk to him on the way back to the VA. Maybe he should have invited Justine to sleep with him in that bed full of bed bugs and decades of sp-, well, better don't think about it, dear reader.

_Fuck Carrie, this is the part where you take me home. Where you say that I need a change of environment. That I need to be with people who care about me._

Maybe he had gone too far with his no-shower-attitude. Honestly, he couldn't stand his own stink these days. And it started to itch. 

But again, it was all part of his masterfully created plan. Which would lead him directly into Carrie’s shower. With Carrie. 

_That's the plan. Stick to the plan._

Except right now, with the orderlies, it seemed more like it would lead him into the locked ward. 

_Fuck. Time for Plan B._

_Do not fight back. Remember, you can't. Carrie will help you. Soon. Very soon. Fuck, Carrie. Now._

 

And finally she did. Quinn wondered if pulling the “you have no right” card had been a tad too much… Poor Carrie, she looked really sad and worried today, but - the end justifies the means. 

So, step one of his mission was successfully accomplished. 

Carrie was taking him home. He wondered if she had a guest room. Or if he’d take the couch. Maybe he could get a glimpse of her when she was preparing for bed. Just a moment. Just a look at her. Or maybe...  
Or maybe he could sit with her at night, have a glass of - no wine, he had to pretend to be sick. Maybe herbal tea. 

Carrie got a basement apartment that she was going to rent out through Airbnb. He ended up there. So, not technically her home... but pretty damn close. 

He was really glad to get out of that fucking VA hospital. And, in terms of his plan, it was a huge step forward. Everything was developing just the way he wanted - he was more than pleased - but he couldn't show it. 

Instead, he threw a mug at Carrie. 

Dear reader, one could argue throwing a mug at their beloved is not the best and smartest romantic move. But, you know, desperate times… 

And Quinn was desperate enough. Because, living under the same roof was a very, hm, exciting idea. How many times was he carried away by the thought of just sneaking into her bed at night and then, well, proving his skills before she could kick him out, but it was too risky. 

So, he had to push her away, really hard, knowing it would only encourage her to try even harder.

He had to take a shower though. He just couldn't resist it any more. And, anyway, he didn't want to be stinky and repulsive when things would get more… touchy. 

So, the next day, when Carrie and Franny were out, he washed himself, washed and dried his clothes, then thoroughly stained and dusted everything right to the appropriate I’m-so-dirty-and-depressed-I-need-your-help level (cocao powder served really well), and then he stole some olive oil from Carrie’s kitchen and applied it to his hair.On a second thought, he used some for his mustache as well, for further growth. 

He was secretly proud he managed to grow so much hair on his face. It was pretty ugly, to be fair - which fitted his plan - but he couldn't help it, he was curious how long it could get. 

But things got moving the next day. First, Carrie put her hand on his shoulder, to convince him to take his fucking meds. He protested, he growled, he insulted her, the more he did, the more she touched him, his arm, his forearm, his shoulder again. Great. Two points for each touch = six points. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, at night, Quinn had decided to install a points system. 

Then came Max.

_Fuck._

He didn’t need a babysitter - he really, really didn’t need one, because he was totally fine (when Carrie was around, he put the meds in his mouth, then discreetly spit them off.) Also, if Max was there, obviously, Carrie didn’t need to be around. And as much as he liked Max, he hadn’t the same plans for him.

_Fuck._

Finally, he decided to go for drama. Huge drama. A seizure, in public, in a store - he played it just right, serious enough so Max would tell Carrie (and she’d get worried,) not serious enough to be sent to the hospital.

Then Max went away and Quinn prepared for his big scene.

He took a quick shower, and dirtied himself again on all the right places, more olive oil on his hair, on his mustache, a little white foundation on the skin to look really really sick… then he lied into bed in his most languid romantic posture, waiting for Carrie to come back.

He got up once more, realizing he’d forgotten to hide the condoms he’d bought that same day in his nightstand. He added one under the sofa cushion and one in the kitchen, shit, Carrie’s steps, he left the last one (a green one) in a coffee mug, then he dived into his bed again, going for a pitiable posture but making sure his pecs were filling out his grey baggy shirt just nicely.

He’d spent a great deal of thoughts on how to greet Carrie. He needed just the right degree of opening up, but he needed to still be hesitant. A little apologetic, but not abject. Faking some minor memory loss to make her talk.

The memory loss was very important in his plan. Because if things went down the drain he could just say “Really? Can't remember. I did that? No way.”

So there she was, the “how was your day” line seemed to work just fine, she was sitting on the edge of his bed… Maybe he should touch her arm? But no, fuck, he needed his right arm to prop himself up on his elbow and, remember... his left arm was paralyzed. Carrie would take a miracle recovery well.

Okay, now came the crucial next step. Talking about Berlin. Making her opening up by stirring memories about their past.

It was a bit of a shitty move but then again - the end justifies the means, and in a few minutes, he would hold her and comfort her, tell her he was okay, getting better, and then he would slowly start to caress her back and - yeah, well, that was the plan. 

Just then, she asked about the video. He’d seen it once, in therapy. He had no good memory of it, but he could keep his shit together. In a complete alpha male-way, oh yes. And in a way, the video was a good idea, because it seemed to have a lot of impact on her. Also, staring at a phone screen together required to be very close. He could smell her hair. And the smelly cheese he applied, just the right amount, to stink after the shower. (Maybe he should stop.)

So ok, confused expression, realization and horror slowly trickling in but taking it an heroic way, showing just some cracks in the armour. 

_And then she'll touch me. Will take my hand. Or will hug me and hold me. And things will evolve quickly. C’mon Carrie, that's what people  
do to offer comfort._

Not Carrie though.

Time to add some tension.

“You saved me? Why?”

_Now she'll say it. Whatever it is. I wonder how she'll phrase it. C’mon Carrie._

She had already started the touching, 3 points, maybe even 4. But then she started crying. She touched him again... and she was gone.

6 points, crying Carrie, and suddenly he was alone in the basement.

_Fuck._

So he got up, showered away the stink, and brewed some coffee for a night of planning. When he poured the coffee and had the first sip, he was distracted by the guy living across the street having what seemed to be night goggles. And… damn, what was that? Plastic, sharp edges, cutting his lip. The condom wrapper, fuck.

He put the mug back on the kitchen counter.

Time for Plan B. Or was it C already?

Sadly, he couldn't practice. The scream had to be perfect without rehearsal. But it was now or never. He even changed his clothes, applied just a tiny bit cocoa powder for fake stains, and resisted the olive oil.

He stayed awake… he didn’t want to miss Carrie getting up and hearing her walking around upstairs. It was crucial she’d be the only one awake, for for obvious reasons… and he didn't wanna scare Franny. Suddenly he was distracted by a green fluorescent glow on the kitchen counter. God, he’d bought glowing condoms. Good thing he noticed now. Could be a game changer, trying to get the girl, finally successful and then suddenly having a green dick floating around like an alien. He checked, the ones in his nightstand were orange, red with strawberry taste (taste?!) and then one more, extra pleasure, with Carrie...

But thinking about it now… maybe he should practise how to roll it down with just one hand… there were still some hours to kill… and Carrie had been very close… and smelled very good…and soon he would...

 

Dear reader, from this point his plan got fucked. 

Twice. 

First- that goddamn video fucked with his brain.

Long story short, he fell asleep after that nice Carrie fantasy and had a horrible hellish nightmare from hell. Totally unplanned. And Carrie found him screaming, tossing and disoriented, and totally out of control. Not really sexy, right?

But, it turned out to be his luck. Because she hugged him. And she held him close. And she rubbed his back. For that, he scored himself 200 points. 

He also scored extra points for not using his left hand, while clinging to Carrie. 

And then, things got a little out of control. He might have had overdone the touching part. That part with nuzzling and kissing Carrie’s neck and getting his hand way too far up under her shirt. That was several huge steps ahead of the plan (but hey, it was so good!). 

Of course, an angry outburst from Carrie followed. She detached abruptly and yelled at him. And he had lost no less than 200 points (she was really mad).

But, you know what? He could swear there was a moment when she almost gave in. Because, instead of pushing him away, she leaned into his touch for a couple of long delicious seconds and maybe even tilted her head slightly to the side so he could proceed with kissing her neck. (Ok, ok, scratch the kissing part, no evidence here, but the first one still counts, right?)

So, plus 40 points! And some pretty exciting memories as a bonus. 

But here comes the second thing. Franny came by. Just a second after the hug incident.

And she took interest in the condom he left on the kitchen counter. And she didn't leave it be until he said it was a balloon. 

Well, it wasn't a wise decision, because now she was happily running around with her green glowing balloon, excited to show it to her mommy when she would return home.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Hey Franny, how are you today?”, he said in his normal voice, when he caught up with her - no need to pretend with a four years old girl, right?

“I love my new balloon!”

“Yes, it’s great! But it’s… It actually belongs to a friend. I’m so sorry. I have to get it back - is it ok?”

“But - you gave it to me”, Franny protested.

“Not exactly, sweetie. You took it.”

The nanny was busy preparing lunch in the kitchen, so Quinn couldn’t really grab the balloon and run - Franny would have protested, questions would have been asked - and also, let’s be honest, he didn’t want to make the little girl sad.

Her eyes, so inquisitive. Just like Carrie. 

“You speak better”, Franny said.

See? Just like Carrie.

“I… Yes. Sometimes. But it’s… a secret. You can’t tell your mother.”

“Why?”

“I’m preparing a surprise for her.”

“What other secrets do you have, Peter?”

_Hire this girl in the CIA._

“I’ll tell you… If you give me the balloon back.”

“Ok”, Franny said, with an expectant smile. So like her mother, again, that Quinn’s heart hurt a little.

“Ok, see? I can move my left arm.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Look, I can catch things… Like your balloon… and throw it… and catch it again… And my leg works too… See?”

Franny eyes were huge. “But”, Quinn repeated, “you can’t tell your mother. We have to wait for the surprise. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes”, Franny said, her eyes shining again.

So Quinn took the balloon back, went down to the basement again, and Carrie (who had forgotten her phone and came back into the house and had been listening to all the conversation) just had the time to jump and hide behind the corner.

“Well”, she muttered to herself. 

 

That afternoon, Carrie came home in a very good mood. She had bought cupcakes, they had coffee and hot chocolate, she was humming while she set the table. Yes, humming.

And when they sat around the table, all three of them, she looked at him, with such a nice smile that he thought he should introduce points for smiles -

“Could you stay with Franny tonight? Latisha can't come and I have a thing.”

A thing?

“Eh, dunno, I mean I’m no babysitter and -”

“I don't need a babysitter. I’m not a baby”, Franny complained.

“No, but -”, Quinn complained.

“Quinn, I wouldn't ask but I’d really like to -”

“Quinn, we could watch Frozen. Mommy, do I get extra screen time?”, Franny used her Mom’s distraction right away to negotiate.

Clever girl.

“If you promise to be a good girl.”

“I will. I will. Peter, whom do you like better? Elsa or Anna?”

Carrie mouthed a “thank you” and got up to do the dishes while Franny gave him a thirty minutes introduction about the most important characters.

Carrie was ready to leave at seven. 

She looked stunning. So she was going on a date. How did that go with his plan? 

Fuck.

“Mommy is wearing a jumpsuit”, Franny giggled, “it's called like that because she can bounce in it. Bounce, bounce, bounce.”

The little girl jumped up and down and Quinn wondered if Carrie was wearing a bra, the deep neckline of her dark ref silky thing didn't really hide a lot. He remembered feeling her bare back and the thought that someone else might - well, just fuck.

Oliver waited outside and Carrie made sure to kiss his cheek and greet him with an extra loud explanation about her friend and colleague Quinn babysitting Franny.

_Friend and colleague._

And then she was gone for four hours. 

_How long did dinner in a restaurant take? Two hours maybe? What were they doing now? Was he ogling into her neckline? Or even worse? Dammit._

The movie was a nuisance. Drama Queen and smart girl, true selfless love and then some. Halfway through Franny asked if she could have a balloon too, otherwise she might tell mommy the secret. 

Carrie paid Oliver right when they arrived at the restaurant, plus 200 extra for unexpected events, just in case. She’d paid the casting agency's fee online, it was an expensive evening but desperate times require desperate measures.

So when they arrived back home she gave Oliver the agreed sign, just after he’d walked her to the front door. She put her key into the lock and turned it and just when she saw the light in the hallway being switched on, Oliver tried to kiss her.

All part of the plan, obviously.

And the kiss wasn't too bad. Honestly, it was a good kiss. An excellent kiss even.

But just when she saw the tall shadow behind the door she pushed Oliver against his chest and yelled at him.

“I said “No.” No, like in No, nada, niente, never. Stop that.”

She felt the door in her back opening and slightly turned her back to block the supposed swing of Quinn's right arm.

“Oliver,” exasperated now, “I’m...errmph.”

Oliver was an excellent kisser.

And Quinn’s left did an excellent upward punch. And then Oliver rolled down the first two stairs before Quinn grabbed him by the collar, with both hands, dragged him down the stairs and seethed some nice profanities through his clenched teeth.

When they arrived at the last step Quinn turned the guy’s arm on his back, making him double over.

“Never touch her again. She said “no”.”

And as Oliver hobbled away a thought suddenly began to form at the back of his mind.

Fuck. The plan. The I-need-you -help for everything except going to pee-plan. 

Carrie had seen enough. Arm, leg, talking - all fine. At there he was now looking up to her on top of the stairs of her house.

“What the fuck? Quinn?”

Oh fuck.

“What the fucking fuck?”

“Speedy recovery.”

He knew it sounded lame. Well, it was a lame excuse.

“Okay.”

Okay? Oh fuck, he knew that expression. She was up to something.

It was a classic Mathison expression. In fact, he had just seen it a few hours before when Franny had bribed him into a second bedtime story.

So he went up the stairs, followed her inside, surprised when she went downstairs instead of into her living room.

“W-w-where are we going?”

Fuck, he was so used to this stutter, it was hard to stop it now. But he was nervous now.

“Do me a favor and stop that charade. It's ridiculous. Sit down.”

She indicated to the worn-out couch and he obeyed, watching with growing concern and horror how she started rummaging around and tossing his belongings in his bag.

Oh fuck.

“Carrie. Listen. I’m sorry. This is not what it seems.”

“No? Well then tell me what it is. Cause to me it seems you are perfectly fine but played me for days.”

She moved to the bathroom to collect his PJs and stuffed them into the duffel.

“No. I-”

“What?”

She sneaked past his knees and grabbed a shirt from the arm rest and-

Fucking fuck. Can it get any worse? Oh my god this is not happening. Please not. Too late. Zero points. Minus a million points.

“Extended pleasure with climax control?!”

“I had to hide it from Franny.”

Carrie didn’t even answer but exhaled slowly, very slowly.

Damn. This was red alert. Purple. Dark purple. 

“It's not that I brought anyone here if that's what you think.”

“No, that was what you went to Harbour’s Point for. Did they need climax control?”

“No. Fuck. I mean - this is not why I have these. It was an assortment in the box.”

“Sure. That explains it. Anything else? Cause if not we are done here.”

Carrie could see that it was hard for him and she wondered if she’d played her cards right. But it was what it was now and he had it coming. And she herself was sick and tired of the one step forward two steps backwards mechanic they’d nurtured the longest time. So it was all in or nothing.

She gave him time, slowing down in her efforts to pack his few belongings now.

“I- I wasn't well when I woke up.”

“Right.”

“But you were there. And then I got better. And you were still there.”

“I remember that.”

“And I got better each day.”

“You forgot to tell me.”

“Not really. I wanted. But -” well fuck, he’d tell her and then they would be done anyway - “but when I wasn't doing well you came twice a day. Mornings and afternoons. And then it was just once a day. You’d have cut back your visits more and more if I got better. And when I didn't get better and the VA wasn't good for me you invited me here. So once I was here I couldn't get any better because you’d asked me to move out then.”

There.

“So you pulled all this fucked up shit to make me allow you to stay?”

Quinn shrugged. In retrospective it suddenly didn't seem to be such a great idea anymore.

“And why would you do that instead of just ask?”

“Fuck Carrie why would I do that?! It's not because your shabby apartment is such a great place to crash or because you're such a great cook.”

“No need to insult me.”

“Because I want to be here. With you. And Franny. Not here. But upstairs. Live with you. Be with you. Proof that we still have a chance. That I changed. That you changed. That it wouldn't end badly. If we both want that and treat it carefully.”

“It?”

“It.”

“Way of a love declaration, Quinn.”

_She's laughing. Full-hearted laughing. Fuck me._

He was confused, she could see it in the way he was looking at her.

_God, hopefully I am not embarrassing myself here. C’mon Quinn, this is where you say something nice._

But he still just looked at her. Incredulous. It was getting awkward.

“Okay, Quinn, I-”

“Say that again.”

“What? Okay?”

“No. The other thing. Before.”

“Way of a -”

“Yeah. That.”

“Love declaration.”

She didn't say it loud. She said it so not loud that it was nearly inaudible. Almost a whisper.

He took a tentative step closer, his left hand searching her right.

“Yeah. That part.”

“So?”

“Right.”

“No, Quinn, after all that shit you pulled you won't get through this while being all monosyllabic. I need more.”

At least she did remove her hand. That was at least 100 points, given the circumstances.

So it was now or never, olive oil, cocoa powder or not, this was it.

So he wound his right arm around her shoulder, let go of her hand to bring his hand to her cheek and brush his thumb along her jawline while he looked at her, feeling raw and vulnerable like never before.

“That's what it is. A love declaration. You. I know I fucked it up, royally, but this is what I want.”

His mouth found hers and she leant in and kissed him back and it would have been perfect, it was perfect, for a moment or two, she just parted her lips and- “Mommy, Quinn, what are you doing there? Did you tell Mommy your hand is working? I had a bad dream. I can't sleep.”

So it was much later - not before Franny was settled, and he had a shower and changed to some clean clothes and was upstairs now - that Carrie came back into her living room and he could make things right.

And it was even later that she smiled when asking 

“Strawberry, fluorescent or extended pleasure?”


End file.
